The Wandmaker's Squib
by Kimmydonn
Summary: Laurel comes from good stock, pure blood, a wandmaker for an uncle and mentor. But she can't cast a spell. She'll brew you anything you need, grow any plant, but no spells, no wands, no transfiguring. She's the squib. OC
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: the world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Laurel is my original character. I think you'll recognize a lot of the characters around her.

* * *

Laurel worked to keep up with Uncle Garrick. He didn't go on expeditions often, and she wanted to be sure she'd be invited on the next one. While he consulted his bewitched map, she wandered off the path a few steps, spying several specimens she wanted to sample. Her bottomless pocket was filled with jars and bags specifically for this purpose. There were even a few pots in case she wanted a cutting of something living. This time she just collected seed and root samples. The foliage here, in South America, was so very different from home. Most were non-magical, but she sampled everything, sure at least a few had properties no one had discovered yet.

"Laurel? I can't lose you girl, your mother will kill me," Uncle Garrick's voice was raspy. He was her father's eldest brother and showed those years. Half-brother, she reminded herself. They had the same father.

"I'm right here!" she called, bounding back to the path, samples shoved back inside the bottomless pocket. "Just a few steps away." She caught her breath quickly. "You would have seen me if there weren't so many vines. Are any of them wand wood?" she asked, examining the vines as well as the trees they grew on.

"Almost none," Uncle Garrick told her. "There is one species here that I have used before. No, we're not here for wood, we're here for the Coatl."

She knew that. They were hunting for feathers to use as wand cores. Laurel secretly wondered if this trip was also intended to collect the core for her next wand. Uncle Garrick refused to give up on her, something she appreciated.

"Coatl feathers are for the erratic. They stabilize innate magic and turn it into a controlled force," she recited. "Do you think my magic is erratic?" she asked.

"What? No, child. Well, sort of. It's uncontrolled, not erratic. You know the difference?" he asked.

Of course she did. Erratic magic came and went without reason. Her magic was always there when she wanted it, it just didn't like to be controlled through a wand. As a reminder to herself, she picked up a flower with a gesture of her hand and it floated over to her. She pocketed it with the others. "But I'm like others my age, right? Before they start at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Laurel, that's right." He sighed and she knew that her situation troubled him. When it came to spells, she was practically a squib. Despite her inability to use incantations or wand movements, she was very good at making what she wanted happen.

Uncle Garrick checked his map once more. "Ah, just ahead now. We're entering his range. I hope he isn't hiding too well."

Laurel didn't follow too closely. Her uncle wouldn't like her stepping on his heels while he stalked. Instead she spied a tree frog that she recalled had eggs that were perfect for brewing antidotes. She started scaling the tree, using the multitude of vines to help her. She had hopes to see the Coatl when her uncle cornered it, but that could take a very long time. She crawled out on the thick branch the frog sat upon and then stretched out her arms, trapping it between her hands.

"Gotcha!" She held him tightly in both hands while calling one of her cages from the pocket. It floated out to her and she shoved the frog in, closing and latching the grate. "I'll try to return you," she promised as she slipped the cage into her pocket.

Rather than climb down, she swung herself off the branch and landed with a thud. She was only a little more than her height off the ground, and she wasn't a large ten year-old. There was a rustling when she landed and Laurel turned to the sound.

There was the blue and red plumed snake. How strange to see a snake with feathers. She wanted to call her uncle but was sure that would frighten it off.

"Hello?" she said very quietly. The serpents eyelids flicked shut from each side. Nothing like a bird. "May I... Would you spare some feathers?" She had never actually done this before. She believed that with intelligent animals like unicorns, pheonix and Coatl she should _ask_ for their pieces rather than catching and taking. That was for wild animals like dragons, thestrals and kelpies. The Coatl slithered toward her, more ruffling of feathers accompanying his movements.

When he was within her reach, he bowed his head, exposing the ruff of feathers behind it. She took one and stopped, waiting for the donor to consent to each donation. The Coatl didn't move and she touched another feather. She didn't tug, but both were released. She wouldn't think of trying to pull one out. That would be like someone trying to pull out her hair by the handful. Another breath and she took a third feather.

"Laurel?" her uncle asked in a hiss. Her head jerked to look at him and a rustle followed — the coatl retreating.

"Thank you!" she called after him. "Thank you very much!"

"He chose you?" Uncle Garrick asked in wonder. "Perhaps I'll have to take you on my next unicorn visit. They often try to gore me." He smiled, taking the feathers from her hand. She let go reluctantly. He examined each one carefully and gave all but a blue one back to her. "They're yours. I hope you don't mind me using one of them." His smile filled his eyes with mischief, as though he were going to make a particularly powerful surprise for someone.

"Mine," she said in wonder, looking at the two red feathers. "What is the difference between the red and blue?"

"I don't know," he answered. "I've only gotten blue ones in the past. Perhaps red will better suit you. Perfect for your first wand."

She gasped a little and looked again at the feathers before bagging them carefully and storing them in her pocket. She would make her first wand. Were her trees ready? She'd grown them since she was six, but they weren't very large yet, barely more than saplings.

"Do you think my ash is ready?" she asked, marching after Uncle Garrick back the way they had come.

"I'll take a look when we get home. Any bowtruckles?"

"Two, and three more in my holly. They seem very happy."

"Breeding pairs?" he asked, like Laurel sat around watching her bowtruckles that closely.

"Um, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I have three female and two male, so maybe." She couldn't wait to give one her Coatl feather and see if they found a branch for it.

"Well, having bowtruckles at all is good sign," he said, as though she didn't know that. "Why the ash? Why not the holly?"

Laurel shrugged, her blonde hair bobbing. "Because I like the flexibility of the ash? My holly seems stiff." She had tested the springiness of the twigs. "I hope my willow gets bowtruckles. It's very pliable."

Her uncle huffed. "Don't want it too malleable. Won't hold the magic in line."

"True. What wood do you plan to use?"

"Oh, um, I was thinking oak."

"Really! That's quite hard."

"Yes, well, fitting with the feather, don't you think?"

She bowed her head very slightly; he was right. "Of course. What better to control erratic magic than an unyielding wood."

"Precisely. Do you want any hel-"

"No!" she said quickly. She wanted her first wand to be all her own. "But I would like to get back," she admitted as they came to a clearing. It was the one into which her uncle had apparated. She put a hand on his arm, holding tightly. Although she thought she could feel the bone in his thin arm, there was a length of muscle there, one developed doing fine work with careful fingers. "Thank you," she said. "For bringing me with you."

"Thank you. For finding the Coatl."

Laurel smiled and then gasped as she was suddenly squeezed in tight to her uncle. With a pop, they apparated into her orchard.

"Now," he continued as though nothing had happened. To him, it was likely as though nothing had. Laurel held her head for a moment until the spinning stopped. Apparation was not her favourite way to travel. "Let's see these trees." She joined him at the holly, which was almost twice as tall as Laurel, still not very big. "You have four bowtruckles, my dear," he informed her. "They've just bred."

Laurel, ignoring her dizziness, ran to her uncle's side, squinting into the branches. She couldn't make out the infant, but the female had something on her back. "Really?"

"Really. Perhaps you'll use one of those feathers here?" He began testing branches. "Oh, it's not so stiff. Quite pliable. You'll get a versatile wand out of that tree." He moved to the ash. It was even smaller than the holly. "This tree isn't ready. Soon," he told her, as the disappointment showed in her face. "None of these are quite thick enough yet."

Again, she should have known that, but she had hoped.

"Your willow is coming nicely. A transplant?" he asked.

"Yes. I got a cutting from Mrs. Finnigan. Hers isn't a wand tree."

"No? It could be. This could be."

Laurel ran to grab her buckets of compost and water, dosing the tree with a little of each. She'd made the compost in the muggle fashion, allowing things to rot. Her mother had suggested it when dragon dung proved to be too potent.

Laurel forgot her uncle as she moved through the orchard toward her garden. Everything seemed to need water in the heat of summer, and she was careful not to drown any plant, pulling sprouts where they didn't belong and uprooting two tubers from her Zigadenus to keep it growing well. She added these to her bottomless pocket as well.

Reaching into her pocket again, she pulled out the samples she'd collected. Half of each was sown into pots or sliced and put in water to encourage new roots and shoots. If she was lucky, she could multiply new samples while finding uses for the remains.

A shadow fell across her work table, and Laurel frowned at the sudden change in light. She turned to see her uncle and her father standing behind her. A third wizard stood with them. He wore half-moon spectacles and had a long white beard. Laurel jammed her hands into her water bucket, washing away compost.

"Hello," she said, giving the wizard a little wave. He looked familiar. She knew his portrait was hung somewhere she had been recently.

"Laurel, there is someone we'd like you to meet," her father said. "This is Albus Dumbledore."

That explained why he looked familiar. She'd helped Heather sort her chocolate frog cards. Heather must have had ten copies of Dumbledore.

"Hello, Miss Olivander." Dumbledore spoke in a slow, clear voice. It was friendly while remaining suitably distant. There was no doubt that he commanded respect and obedience, but it didn't come at the expense of understanding. Laurel liked him immediately, for many of the same reasons she loved her uncle. A gleam in his eye hinted at a joke on the tip of his tongue. It also spoke of imagination, something Laurel revelled in. "I understand you will be joining us at Hogwarts in another year."

"If I am accepted, Professor Dumbledore," she said.

"And why do you think you might not be accepted?" His cheery expression darkened very slightly.

"Because my charms are abysmal," she admitted. "I have no capability with basic charms or transfigurations. None of them work for me."

"Many students come to Hogwarts with only the most rudimentary of magical skills, my dear. If you learned your charms before you came, what would we teach you?"

Laurel couldn't argue with that. She looked at her stained up dungarees and sneakers, trying to rub some of the mud off one with the toe of the other. "I see."

"Well, let's not talk of what may be, but rather, what is. You have a garden, I have been told."

Laurel smiled broadly. Professor Dumbledore followed her as she pointed and named the various plants and fungi. Her mother's garden had been almost completely usurped by Laurel's. It wouldn't have been anything without her mother helping and teaching her. It had been her mother's suggestion and gift of a sapling that started the orchard.

"This is wonderful, Laurel. You and Professor Sprout will be kindred spirits, I'm sure."

"Do you think I'll be able to bring some with me?" she wondered, pulling a few weeds as she spied them. She also found a garden gnome. They almost never came into the garden. She sent him flying with a last telekentic kick before he landed.

"A few, perhaps. Probably best to wait until your first herbology class. You can talk to Professor Sprout about greenhouse space."

Laurel's eyes lit up. She didn't have a real greenhouse, just a shed with a skylight. "I can't wait."

Dumbledore found another gnome and pulled out his wand to remove it. Laurel stared at the knobbly elderwood. "What type of wand is that? May I see it? Uncle doesn't often use elderwood, cursed, he says." She mumbled as she reached toward the wand.

"I'd rather not," Dumbledore said, tucking the wand up his sleeve.

Laurel realized how rude she was being. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I'm studying wands, you see, so I'm always interested when I see a new one."

"I do understand and I'm not offended."

Just then, Laurel's mother called everyone to dinner, saving her further embarrassment.

Laurel sat in the back of Uncle Garrick's shop on Diagon Alley. She had borrowed a copy of a new book on exotic plants and possible uses from Bertle and Botts bookshop. The door opened occasionally and her uncle would mend wands or sell cleaning kits. Rarely, a new witch or wizard would come in, looking for their first wand. As soon as she heard her uncle in the shelves, Laurel came out to watch the fitting. She was still learning how to match a wizard and his wand. There was more art to it than science it seemed.

"I'm stepping out to the Cauldron, Laurel. Mind the desk?" he called to her.

She didn't stop reading, but carried her book to the front. "Of course." It was as likely he'd be back by the next customer as not. She leaned heavily on the large desk until the bell over the door chimed.

"Hello." Laurel smiled brightly at the red haired witch who entered.

"Oh, hullo. Is Mr. Olivander around?"

"He's stepped out. Is there anything I could help you with?" Laurel tried to look older than ten, but she wasn't terribly successful.

"I was wondering if he could take a look at this old wand of ours. It's splitting here, you see? We can't afford to replace it, but if it could be repaired."

Laurel stretched both hands out to take the wand gingerly. Licking her lips, she examined it. "Ash. Oh my! I can see the unicorn hair."

The woman flushed and Laurel was afraid it was in anger.

"I'm sure my uncle can fix it."

The witch seemed to sigh. "Are you? I hope so. Thank you, Miss Olivander?"

Laurel nodded. "And you are?"

"Weasley." Laurel wrote the name down and set the wand atop it. "I'll come back in a couple hours."

Laurel bit the edge of her tongue. Uncle Garrick might not be back for another hour. Looking at the wand on the desk, she considered her options. She could leave the wand and the witch might have to leave it longer. Or she could try to mend it. She rolled the wand gently on the desk, watching a puff of smoke rise from the fissure.

She picked up the wand and flicked it once, cringing. Something dreadful usually happened when she waved a wand. In this case, however, nothing much resulted. The break must be bad. She took the wand to the back, certain anything she did couldn't make it worse.

At the work table, Laurel examined the jars her uncle had on the shelf. The different binders corresponded to type of damage and wood and sometimes cores. What would be best for Ash? She held the wand flat in the palm of her hand and blew toward the jars over it. As she'd hoped it twisted and rolled in her hand until it pointed slightly to the left. Leaning toward the jar, the wand seemed to jump out of her hand toward it.

Laurel took the slender piece in both hands and pressed it to the table, tapping it gently. The charm faded and the wand lay still. Laurel dipped a brush in the jar and painted a thick strip over the open seam. The dark liquid seemed to stain the wood at first, but then, as she had expected, the wood seemed to swell, then burst in shower of sparks. Laurel held her hand out to spare her eyes the glare. When the light died, the wand was all one piece, no sign of any damage. She picked it up, a little too vigorously. The row of wands behind her flew off their shelves and emptied on the floor.

Grumbling quietly, Laurel set the wand back on the front desk and set about putting wands away. The first dozen she did by hand, but as she picked up more, several jumped back into their boxes without her touching them. Finally, she piled all the boxes neatly on the shelf.

A week later, arriving in the house via floo powder, her mother grabbed her arm in excitement. "The bowtruckles in your holly are up to something. I don't know what, but you'd better take a look."

Laurel rushed out, dropping her bag beside the fireplace. Skidding to halt at the holly, she knew exactly what the hubbub was. Her wand was ready. She saw the branch that had tapered and grown smooth and straighter than natural. The bowtruckle family jumped up and down on it, making it spring.

"Okay, enough of that," she told them, reaching her hand out. When she touched the wand, the branch separated from the rest of the limb. It had a stump that would be perfect for mounting into a handle. She didn't need a handle to test it, though.

"Go on," her mother urged. "Try it."

Laurel took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the grain of the wood. She also felt as though something were lining up inside her, something drawn down her arm. Was it her magic? Would this wand be able to channel it? She pulled the wand up sharply and pottery shattered. One of her ceramic pots had flown up into the air and dropped suddenly.

"That wasn't bad," her mother urged. "Try... aguemente."

Laurel nodded and turned to her trees. Pointing to the roots she called, "Aguemente."

Sparks flared and a few caught the bark, scarring it.

Laurel pulled back her arm to hurl the wand from her. Even making it herself it wasn't any good. She would never be a proper witch.

The wand was yanked from her first. "Don't do that," her mother cried. "I'm sure it's a good wand." She waved it and the pieces of the broken pot aligned themselves and a second flick with "reparo" rebuilt it. "See. I know it's disappointing, love, but look. You've made a wand. Do you know how few people can say that?"

Laurel heaved a sigh that included half a sob. She did know. She was special. She just wasn't a proper witch. She was a strange squib-like thing.

Her mother read her mind. "You are not a squib. Squibs cannot brew engorging elixirs or healing tonics. They can't grow Mimbulus mimbltonia plants. And they don't make wands." The nubbed end was thrust at her and Laurel had to take it or be jabbed.

"Thanks, mum," she murmured.

"Now, let's go tell your uncle. He's going to be so pleased!"

That did make Laurel smile. She couldn't wait to show Uncle Garrick. She had to start working on a handle! She had a nice ram horn that she should be able to shape to fit. Her disappointment melted as her imagination flew.

* * *

I know, I posted a new story, try not to faint. I've been having a lot of blue days regarding marketing and publishing and editing and well, I've found an escape. I'm finally writing down Laurel's story. For a long while, I've seen her in the background when I read HP and I thought it was about time I shared her with someone. Don't expect regular updates and don't expect this to be quick. Laurel is only a year older than Harry so I've got a lot of time to cover. I'll be working on this when the original fiction and publishing business get me down. It reminds me that I can write, just for fun. I'll probably have canon problems because (as fun) I'm not researching as well as I could. If you'd like to fact-check me, be my guest! If you'd like to beta-read, let me know. At the moment, this is going up like When Alice met Jasper or Breaking Dawn Book 4, as I write it straight up. If I'm not going to put in a consistent effort, I don't think it's fair for me to tie up a beta-reader. I've been on the reader end of that and it sucks.

Jeez, someone kick me to stop rambling. *shuffles off*


	2. Chapter 2

"We have a surprise for you," her father said, as they arrived at the train station.

"Really? All of this wasn't enough?" She waved an arm to take in her trunk and other supplies.

"We wanted you to have something more... alive," her mother said, pulling a cage from behind her back. A grey kitten lay at the bottom of it.

"A kitten?" Laurel opened the cage and pulled the tiny thing out. It was only a little larger than her two hands together and woke with a yowl, digging claws into Laurel's hands. She dropped the kitten and it sat for a moment, tail erect with indignity. Then it started cleaning itself. Laurel laughed and hugged each of her parents. "Thank you. She's lovely."

"She's charmed," her father told her. "She can't be killed. Well, not the first eighty times anyway." He grinned.

Laurel's brow furrowed. "Eighty? How would she die so much?"

"We thought you could use her for your potion experimenting. It would put our minds at ease," her mother admitted, putting an arm around Laurel's father.

Laurel chuckled. "I suppose it would. Does she have a name?" Squatting, Laurel picked the kitten up again. It settled more easily in her arms this time, jumping to sit atop the trunk instead.

"Squared."

"That's a terrible name," Laurel said, shaking her head. "I'll call her... Squire. You going to be my little kitty?" Laurel asked, rubbing the cat's ears until she stretched enough to lose her balance and mew mournfully.

"We should keep moving, though, or you'll be late," her mother warned.

Laurel walked between her parents, pushing her cart ahead of her. She patted her bottomless pocket once.

"Forget something?" her father asked. "We can always get Dreyfus to carry it to you."

"I don't think so. Mostly I wanted to make sure I was wearing the right jumper."

"Indeed. I don't want to know what you have stashed in there, do I?" he asked, eyeing her pocket.

"Probably not," she admitted, grinning as her father and uncle did when they had a surprise in mind.

"Don't do anything too wild your first week, okay, love?" her mother told her. "Get into a few good graces before you trod on toes."

"I will, Mum," she said. Then she turned to barrier between platforms nine and ten. She knew what to do. Her parents were only a pace behind her as they loped through the magical barrier. There the red engine stood, billowing steam and people flooded the platform.

"Well, here you are. Next year, if you like, we can just take you to Hogsmeade, but for your first year, you should take the train."

Laurel nodded. She wanted the time to prepare herself anyway. Also, this felt more like leaving. They visited Hogsmeade regularly, and the separation wouldn't be as keen as this. She was going away to school.

"You'll water my garden?" she checked, turning to her mother.

"Yes, yes. And I'll tend your orchard."

"No pruning without me!"

"No pruning."

"I'm going to miss you!" She hugged her mother tightly, not caring about the other students watching. "And you!" She hugged her father. She saw him much less than her mother and had less in common with him, but he was her dad. He was always there when she really needed him.

"We'll write."

"So will I," she promised, kissing her dad's cheek. Then she wiped the tears from her own and seized the trolley, pushing through the crowd toward the train.

Laurel carried Squire up and down the train, looking for a compartment that wasn't full. She found one with three boys. They didn't look too much older than herself.

"May I join you?" she asked in a timid voice.

Two of the three were identical with red hair. The third was dark skinned and grinning. He was the one that answered. "Oh sure, come on in."

One of the red haired boys helped her get her trunk in the rack. Then she turned to see what they had been doing.

The boy that helped her said, "Lee got this glass dragon. Fred there figures that it'll break when we hit the first bend in the tracks." The dragon was completely transparent and small, not much larger than Squire. It sat atop one of the boys' trunks.

Just then the train lurched to the side and the dragon toppled to the floor.

"Crash," the other red-head, Fred said.

It didn't. The dragon rolled toward Squire who batted a paw at it, swiping. The dragon spread its wings and flew up, trying to escape the mauling cat. Unfortunately for the dragon, the cat jumped up on the trunk behind him.

"Fight!" Lee said, drumming his fists on the trunk.

"Fight!" Fred agreed adding to the drumming and starting to form a ring trapping the cat and dragon.

"Fight?" the twin next to Laurel asked, then he slid in next to Lee, opposite his brother.

"Fight!" she agreed, leaning into the fourth side. "Get him, Squire!" Laurel didn't have to worry about her kitten getting hurt, if what her parents said was true.

The two, however, did not oblige them. The dragon folded his wings between himself and the cat. And Squire started cleaning herself again.

"Boo!" the boy on the right said. Not Fred. Laurel needed to learn his name, and a way of telling him apart from his brother. "What else can we do?" he asked.

"Snap?" Fred suggested.

The boy on Laurel's right shrugged. "Sure. You got a deck, Lee?"

After a round and a half, Laurel pulled her uniform and a book from her trunk, standing on the bench to reach. The train lurched and she almost fell onto the boys, but managed to hold onto the baggage rail. Only her book fell, right atop the game of exploding snap. She cringed as the deck went off, leaving a black scar on the book's cover.

"Sorry!" she apologized, jumping down and snatching up the book. She held it to her chest, expecting the older and bigger boys to be quite angry with her.

"Have you ever done that?" Fred asked the other two.

"Let's try it again," his brother said with enthusiasm. He grabbed a bag from the rack beside her trunk and dropped it from height onto the table. The deck exploded again.

"Nice," Lee drawled. "Whocha think? Part of the charm or part of the card?" He turned one of the playing cards in his hand. "If 'twas a charm, I'd think it'd only go off at a match, right?"

The brother moved from beside me to kneel next to the chest again. "Yeah, gotta be the cards. A coating?"

Laurel set her uniform and book down, reaching between them to grab one of the now disarrayed cards. She scratched experimentally and was rewarded with a loud snapping pop.

"Look, she's got it," Lee said. "It is the coating." He started scraping the surface of the card and it burst into flame. The boys all backed up quickly, only one thinking to grab his wand.

Laurel thrust her hand into the bottomless pocket and grabbed one of many bottles hidden there. This one was plain water. She upended it on the cards.

"I like her," Fred said, patting Laurel's shoulder. "You're first year, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, if you end up in Gryffondor we'll have to include you in our...plans." He said it very quietly, like it was a conspiracy.

Laurel didn't know what to say so she wriggled out of his reach and settled herself on the bench, pulling her robe over her head.

"Are we that close to the school?" the unnamed twin asked.

"Nah, George. She's just a keener. Maybe we won't be able to include her."

She ignored them, logging George's name. She thought he might have just a few more freckles across his nose than his brother. It was still nearly impossible to tell them apart. The boys returned to their experiments with the cards while Laurel lost herself in her book.

"Look here. He's going to do it now."

Laurel looked up from her book. It was getting dark outside. They'd be arriving at Hogwarts soon. The boys had changed while she was reading and were now trying to coax the glass dragon to eat something. A fire bud.

"You want him to breathe fire?" Laurel asked. "Don't you think that'll melt him?"

"Melt him?" George asked in disbelief.

"Sure, when you get glass hot enough it melts, doesn't it?"

They looked at each other in concern and Fred swept the tiny buds up and put them away.

"Here." Laurel reached into her pocket and pulled out a few of her fairy bell berries. "These should work." The dragon took one and swallowed it eagerly. Laurel popped one in her mouth too. Blueberry this one. Although the dragon must have taken a strawberry because a pink red ball formed in his transparent belly.

"Look at that!" Lee said, pointing. "What did you give him?"

She held the stash out and the boys each took one.

"Gooseberry," Fred said.

"Nah, blackberry," George argued.

"Mine's a grape," Lee told them.

The red swirled in the dragon's belly. "Not long now," Laurel warned them. A pink red cloud seemed to be rising up the dragon's throat and it belched a strawberry scented fireball. It wasn't actually fire, just vapour, but it looked much the same.

"That was awesome," Lee gushed. "Give him another?"

Laurel waited a moment until all the pink had cleared and gave the dragon a second berry. This one created a blue ball. Another blueberry flavoured one.

"Is this what they used for Every Flavour Beans?" George asked, looking at one of the berries.

"Not exclusively, but some," Laurel agreed. Waiting eagerly for the blue fire.

Fred cheered the blue ball as it rolled out of the dragon's throat. "That's amazing, Laurel. What's your last name?"

"Olivander," she said quietly.

"Seriously?" Lee asked. "Like the wandmaker?"

Laurel nodded. "He's my uncle."

"You must have a powerful wand," George surmised.

Laurel felt her cheeks heating. "Not really." She pulled the short, less that 7 inches, rigid oak wand from her pocket. It had a raven feather for a core, made by her uncle. She offered it to the boys.

None of them made any move to take it. "It's your wand," George explained.

"Right." She swished it once, hoping to float a few off the cards that had fallen to the floor up to the rest of the deck. Nothing happened.

"Ah, you'll learn. That's what's school's for, innit?"

Laurel nodded and tucked her wand away, defeated.

"Well, we'll see you at the sorting. Maybe you'll be Gryffindor."

Laurel nodded. She liked Fred and George. It would be nice to see them again.

"Firs' years. This way, all firs' years!" A deep voice boomed.

"Leave your trunk, Laurel. It'll get moved to your room after sorting. Go with Hagrid," George gave her a nudge, but Laurel didn't move at first, bending to pick up Squire and hold her close.

"Here we go," she whispered to the pale shadow of a cat.

Stepping off the train, she quickly found the massive man to match the deep, bellowing voice. He was giant. Well, not a real giant, he wasn't THAT big, but he seemed a giant to the eleven year-olds swarming around his feet. George had called him Hagrid.

"Firs' year?" he asked, holding his lantern over Laurel's head. She watching the twins and Lee abandon her toward the back of the platform. There seemed to be carriages there. Laurel craned her neck to peer up at Hagrid.

"Yes, sir."

"No need for sirs, little lady. Firs' years!" he bellowed again. "All firs' years, follow me."

Laurel fell in with the other first year students around Hagrid's knees. That was generous, most didn't reach his knees. He led them to a dock where a group of boats were moored.

"Should be able to put four o'ye in each. Go on, pile in," Hagrid instructed, nudging a few students.

Laurel licked her lips and climbed carefully into a boat. Squire dug her claws into Laurel's arm, not happy with the idea of the boat. As soon as the fourth student took his seat, the boat started moving of its own accord, making its way across the dark lake. The lantern at the front and the moon above were all the light Laurel could see by.

Rather than pull out her wand, as one girl in the boat did, Laurel reached into her pocket and pulled out a vial. She shook it, waking the sprite within.

"Sorry," she whispered to the tiny creature. "You can go back to sleep soon. I just wanted a little light."

The sprite banged on the glass, wanting out.

"I'll let you go on the other side of the lake, all right?" she promised, whispering to the sprite.

He huffed and sat down, crossing his arms.

"Oy, whotcha got?" one of the boys asked, reaching toward the vial.

"A sprite. Don't shake him. He doesn't like it."

"Where'd you find him?" the girl with her wand aglow asked.

"There's a group of them in the woods near my house."

"Nice. I'm Cho, by the way."

"Laurel," she replied, extending a hand.

"Oh damn! Sorry, Laurel, the top came off." All four watched the tiny speck of light disappear in the distance.

Laurel shrugged. "I'd promised to let him go anyway. I'll catch another when I go home. You are?"

"Greg. You must be pure blood, then, to live near sprites."

Laurel nodded. "Are you?"

"I'm muggle born," Greg admitted, sounding shamed.

"This must be quite the adventure for you," Laurel said. "Everything new."

He nodded and she could just make it out in the light of Cho's wand.

"Are you pure blood?" Laurel asked Cho.

"Only half. We live in the muggle part of London, though, so I'm more muggle than witch."

"Not anymore," the fourth student told her. "At Hogwarts we're all witches and wizards. Or, that's what my cousin tells me."

Laurel nodded her agreement. "Cho, Greg, do you know anything about what happens when we get to the castle?"

Both shook their heads.

"We get sorted," the unnamed boy said. "Four houses for four founders and each looks for a certain type of student."

"Oh yeah," Cho said with a grin. "I read about them. Slytherin, Ravenclaw... I've forgotten the other two."

"Hufflepuff and Gryffindor," Laurel filled in.

"So, we could each end up in a different House?" Greg asked.

Laurel nodded. "Or we might all be in the same. They don't simply split us up equally," she explained.

There wasn't time for any more conversation as the boat scraped against the dock outside the castle.

"Tha's it, this way. Follow me." Hagrid's huge frame filled the portcullis the students filed through. Cho's mouth fell open, as did Greg's.

"I'm Justin, by the way," he said, sliding in behind Laurel. "They've never seen a castle before." He nodded to the other two.

"Well, to be fair, there is only one in London." Laurel tittered.

They were led up a stairwell where Hagrid left them in the care of an old witch, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun and spectacles on her nose. "This is Professor McGonnagal. She'll see to you from here." The students pressed to either railing so Hagrid had room to descend.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the witch said. A small smile played on her thin lips. From the lines on her face, the smile wasn't common. Through these doors in the main dining hall. The other students are seating themselves inside. As you will see, they are seated according to house. Once you enter, you will be sorted into houses as well. Think of your house like your family. You will work together to bring points to your house, or you will shame your house by costing them points through rule breaking. If you are ready?"

Squire suddenly mewed. Laurel stiffened, but when McGonnagal found her, she smiled again.

"That is very nice cat," she told Laurel. "Probably best not to bring her to dinner often, though."

Laurel nodded in agreement.

"If all the cats, rats and owls are also ready?" she asked, looking around the group. "Very well, follow me."

Laurel wasn't quite prepared for the grandeur of the hall. She'd been told that the ceiling was bewitched, but walking under the moon while inside was a little disconcerting. In addition, candles and lanterns floated throughout the vaulted ceiling, casting light in addition to the moon. What startled her most was how many students were crammed in along the four tables. She had never seen so many people in one place. Although Diagon Alley was busy with foot traffic, they were spread out, a pocket here, a family there, not all in on place. She slouched slightly, trying to disappear into her robe.

They followed McGonnagal to the front of the hall where a battered, pointed hat sat on a stool. The sorting hat. She knew the theory, but her parents hadn't told her much about the sorting process. The hat was spelled by the founders of Hogwarts so that it knew the criteria each witch or wizard used to choose their favourite students, those which would receive special instruction and mentorship from that founder. Using that, the hat sorted students in the house of that Founder, thereby giving each of them a group of like-minded students to work with through their time at the school.

The students were called up alphabetically, starting with Lindsey Armstrong. When the hat was placed on her head, it seemed to come alive, bending back its brim to reveal her half-covered face. "Slytherin!" the hat called and Lindsey headed toward the applause that had erupted from the far left table. Laurel reached out for Cho's hand. Greg reached out to take the other, leaving Squire to wrap herself around Laurel's legs. Laurel squeezed Cho's hand when she was called a few students later.

"Don't worry," Laurel whispered. "I'm told it's a very smart hat."

Cho didn't look reassured. Greg's hand trembled a little. "How does it know?"

"The same way it learned from the Founders," Laurel whispered. "While on the head, it can read your mind."

That didn't make Greg feel better, and his trembling became worse.

"Ravenclaw!" Cho bit her lip as she slipped off the stool, but the applause from one of the two center tables seemed to give her confidence.

Justin Fletcher from their boat was called up and sorted into Slytherin. He waved to Laurel with a smile that seemed to invite her to join him. Nearly every member of Slytherin was pure blood. Laurel would fit in there. On the other hand, she could see Fred, George and Lee at the Gryffindor table and knew she'd be happy there. Cho was chatting with some older girls at the Ravenclaw table. Laurel knew the most academic witches and wizards were in Ravenclaw. Her uncle had been in that House. Her friend Heather had wound up in Hufflepuff, and their table seemed the most raucous. She would have fun among them.

She was startled when Professor McGonnagal called on her. "Laurel Olivander."

Leaving Squire with the other students, Laurel moved to sit on the wooden stool. The hat was far too big for her, as it had been for everyone else. It sunk over her ears and nearly completely covered her eyes. It smelled. Not badly, not like unwashed hair or anything, but old, dusty, and leathery too, like her uncle almost, like his shop.

Then the hat spoke to her, startling her. "Oh, brave one here. Not afraid of any creature, are you? And ambitious, eager to prove yourself. Keen mind, very avid learner. Ah, yes, both the bravery and ambition are in the pursuit of knowledge, you are perfect for...Ravenclaw!" The last was loud and heard by the entire hall. Cho was clapping and smiling, sliding down the bench to make room for Laurel.

"We're in the same house!" she said excitedly. "Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful," Laurel agreed, although she looked over longingly at the three boys from the train sitting together at Gryffindor's table. They were up to something; she could tell by the way they laughed and whispered with their heads together. Well, she would have schemes of her own, ones that didn't involve secrets. Putting the twins and Lee out of her mind, she looked behind her and waved to Justin at the Slytherin table. He waved back. He had already been thoroughly adopted by his new House.

"Greg Smith," McGonnagal called. Laurel turned back to see the last from her boat being sorted. He headed for Hufflepuff. His feet dragged a little, but the waving motions from the table perked him up. Laurel had heard that Hufflepuff were known for big hearts. Although all the other tables seemed to have small spaces between groups, Hufflepuff did not. They were all one, and now, so was Greg.

"A few start of term announcements," Dumbledore intoned. "A reminder to all that the forest is forbidden to all students."

Laurel's head spun to regard the headmaster. She wasn't allowed in the forest? But that was her favourite place. She loved wandering the woods near her house, finding animals and plants. What would she do if she couldn't go there? Perhaps, if she weren't seen...

"And finally, bon appetit!" he called and the platters in the center of the table were instantly filled with food.

"How?" Laurel asked, reaching for the plate rather than the chicken that was upon it.

"Ah, that's a goodun'," the dark haired girl across from her said. Cho was reaching for the plate as well. "There's a matching set in the basement. When the charm is activated, what is down there comes here."

"Good charm," Laurel murmured, moving from the plate to the food. "Good food."

"Yes. We get a little spoiled. I'm Penelope, by the way. Fourth year." She put a hand across the table.

"Nice to meet you," Laurel said. "I'm Laurel."

"Yeah, we all just heard your names. Cho," she said, nodding to the girl beside Laurel. "You should meet the prefects. "Oi!" She called down the table. "You going to introduce yourselves or what?"

"Penelope," a girl said with a sigh. "You know you _could_ be a prefect next year, but you'll have to be much better mannered."

"Why? You lot aren't. Haven't even introduced yourselves." She shook her dark hair.

"I am Josephine and this is Mark, Lacy, Jules, Donovan and Louis." She pointed to several older students and Laurel lost track immediately. "We're your prefects. We'll make sure you don't get lost off the get go."

"Penelope?" Laurel asked after nodding and smiling at the prefects. "Will you help us, too?"

She smiled broadly, moving her napkin. "Of course, Laurel. But you're in Ravenclaw, that means you catch on fast. You won't have any trouble."

She turned out to be right and Laurel found herself naturally following the route to the library. How she knew that was where the library was, she couldn't have said, she just knew. It was like the books attracted her.

"This is library," Josephine said as they passed the open arch. "It probably won't surprise you that our house is directly above it. In fact," she waited until the entire group of first year Ravenclaws were at her feet, "the entrance to our house is inside. Convenient, isn't it?" She turned on her heel and approached one of the shelves on the east side. "We remember Rowena Ravenclaw," she explained. "The book will move, but it will always be on this shelf." She pulled out a book and showed it to them. Memoires of Rowena Ravenclaw. Then Josephine opened it revealing a portrait of Rowena.

"What is the purpose of a bizoar?"

"To counteract poison," Laurel answered.

"Correct." The shelf swung outward, revealing a stairway behind.

"Good job," Josephine said, replacing the book. "Welcome to the Ravenclaw common room.

It wasn't surprising to find more shelves and carols similar to those in the library below. There were also overstuffed chairs and loungers around the fire and a few older students were reading there.

"The girls dorms are to the left, boys to the right. Your trunks will have been brought up by now. Oh! And the best part." Josephine moved to a cart not unlike those holding books to be shelved downstairs. "We can bring books up from the library any time. Just set them here and in the morning they end up back where they belong."

Laurel turned to the left, Cho at her side again. Squire mewed but ran ahead rather than waiting to be picked up. The beds all had thick curtains and bedside lanterns. One person staying up to read wouldn't interfere with a neighbour getting her sleep. Laurel spied her trunk and moved to a bed near a window. Cho's trunk had been placed across the room.

"Oi! Everything all right in here?" Penelope asked, poking her head in.

"I think so," Laurel answered. "Is that the Quiddich pitch?" she asked, pointing out the window.

"Aye. Not a great view from here though. You'll have to head down there to really see the match." Penelope sat on one of the beds. "Not many of you this year. Not many boys either." She sighed. "Ravenclaw hasn't had a good batch of fresh blood in a while. No wonder we can't get the House or Quiddich cups. Even with all of us doing our best in classes, Slytherin or Gryffindor clean our clocks." She flopped back on the unclaimed bed. "You'll have new girls in here next year. Hope you don't mind watching over the first years."

"Why would we? You don't mind watching over us, do you?" Laurel asked.

"Not a smidgeon. I like you Laurel. Are you related to _the_ Olivander, then?"

Laurel nodded. "He's teaching me about wand making."

"Excellent. What is wrong with this thing?" Penelope pulled out her wand.

"Holly," Laurel said, taking the wand from her. "Core is..." She looked down the tip. "Mermaid hair? This is an antique. No one's used mermaid hair in decades."

Penelope made a face. "It was my great-grandmam's."

"Oh, I'm not knocking it. Old wands were very powerful." Laurel turned it in her hands. Cho and the other first year girl, Marietta, both watching expectantly. "Ah, your problem is the handle. It's throwing off the balance, causing backfire. Your magic is pooling there until every so often..." Laurel waved it, knowing her magic would violently release the blockage. The curtains of the empty bed flapped wildly around Penelope as though caught in a gale.

"Ah!" she cried jumping off. "So what do I do?" she asked. "And yes, it's been doing that since I got it."

"You replace the handle. Let me see what I have." Laurel needed to empty her pocket anyway. Even though it was bottomless, it didn't do to have forgotten items in there. The treefrog's tiny cage popped open letting him jump around the room. Cho and Marietta both screamed, although Penelope ignored the brightly coloured creature. Squire started stalking it.

"That's it, Squire. Catch him for me." Laurel laid out more bags and vials.

"You have an entire potion cupboard in there," Penelope said with amusement. "Snape's gonna love you."

"Who's Snape?"

Penelope clapped a hand over her mouth. "Professor Snape. Never call him Snape. Good way to dock the house points and make your life uncomfortable. He's the Potions Master. What is that?" She poked at a bag of black goo.

"Dung. Don't poke too hard. It's very combustible."

"Ewww!" Cho complained. "Please put all of that away, Laurel."

"I will. That's why I'm getting it all out. She started popping some of the potions back in. Never knew when she would need those. The rest she starting shelving. She stopped at a section of vine she had collected in South America. "May I see your wand again, Penelope?"

The older girl passed it over and nearly ripped it out of Laurel's hand as she made to snap it.

It didn't snap, however, the capping piece of wood, the handle, broke off.

"This," she said, dropping it into Penelope's outstretched hand. "Is wormwood. I don't know who repaired this, but they mustn't know much about holly wands. That's not compatible at all." Laurel held the remaining wand in one hand and the vine in the other. She shifted them like a pair of balances. Then she gently touched on to another. A single spark turned into a glow on the bottom of the wand. "Oh, good. I don't have any wand wood with me, didn't expect to need it, but this vine is compatible." Sitting on the bed, Laurel pulled out her silver knife. She held the wand between her knees while she whittled away the rigid outside of the vine, revealing the soft, white core. She closed her eyes and let the knife go.

"What are you doing?" Penelope reached out to grab the knife, but it was moving around the vine that hovered over the wand. Watching it spin and slice, the older girl wisely kept her fingers out of the way.

Laurel sighed and closed her hand on the handle of the knife. Then she opened her eyes. "I hope I never need to learn another way to do that," she commented. Holding the knife she dug a hole in the now shaped handle and fixed it to the wand, passing it back to Penelope. "Try it."

Penelope pointed at the open trunk that Cho was digging in. The robes and other clothes flew out and hung themselves in the wardrobe.

"Right as rain," Penelope said with a grin. "I like this handle better, anyway. Fits my hand."

"It helps to have you here when I make it." Laurel wiped her brow, feeling tired. "I think I'm going to lie down. I'll see you all in the morning."

Rather than put away her clothes, Laurel pulled out her pyjamas. She noticed her clothes fly into her wardrobe just as Cho's had.

"Thank you, Penelope," Laurel called as she closed her curtains.

"Thank you!"


	3. Chapter 3

Laurel dressed quickly the next morning and descended with the other Ravenclaw students. She found some studying in the common room, and then more through the library. She was more hungry than curious, though, and made her way back to the dining hall.

"I'm Professor Flitwick," a very small man said, walking up to her at the table. "I have your schedule. Would you mind giving these to your fellow first years?"

Laurel took the small stack of parchment. "Not at all, Professor. Thank you."

"Flitwick is our House Head," a voice said beside her. She turned to see an older boy, one of the prefects. She couldn't remember his name.

"Oh, I see," Laurel looked over the schedule. "How do we know where the classes are?"

"There's a map on the back."

Laurel blushed and flipped the parchment over. "Of course. Thank you."

"Don't be embarrassed. Let's see," he looked over her shoulder. "Double potions at the beginning of the day? That's not a good start. At least you have Astronomy and Charms in the afternoon. Professor Flitwick is also the Charms Master."

Laurel's heart sank. She knew she would be terrible in charms. Astronomy sounded like fun, though. Why did her house head have to be the Charms Master? Why couldn't it be Snape? Although, given how wary everyone seemed to be of him, that might be best.

"Which one is Professor Snape?" she asked, looking at the table where the teachers were gathering.

"Preparing for your first lesson?" he asked, grinning. "He's the one the greasy hair on the left. He's talking with Professor Sprout. She's the herbologist."

"Yes! I need to speak with her." Laurel started to rise, but plopped down quickly. "Oh, not now. I didn't bring anything with me."

"Bring what? Nevermind. I find if I ask too many questions I get distracted from what I ought to be studying. Enjoy your classes." With that, he opened a book on advanced charms and began reading. Laurel couldn't help reading over his shoulder once in a while until Cho and Marietta arrived.

"I have our schedules," she told the other girls, passing them pieces of parchment. The four first year boys arrived together and Laurel gave them the rest of the pile.

"Potions," one said sticking out his tongue. "Wonder what we'll be brewing. Something foul, no doubt."

Laurel kept her excitement about potions to herself. She had already brewed a few things at home and experimented with a number of ingredients that didn't have common uses. She hurried off to grab her pewter cauldron and stuffed a number of ingredients and tools into her bottomless pocket. She knew she would prefer her grandmother's ladle and spoons to common class ones. Hopefully the Professor wouldn't mind.

Following her map, Laurel arrived in the dungeon ahead of most of the others. She found a seat near the front and set her things down. Then she moved to the glass fronted cabinet, peering at the ingredients it contained. Biting her lip, she tried to remember where she might find more of any one of them. Her family had more than enough money to buy ingredients for her, but as she had learned from Uncle Garrick, it was beneficial to know where your materials came from. A unicorn hair from an angry male didn't have the same properties as one from a docile female. A seed from a plant that grew at the edge of its tolerance was different from one coddled in a greenhouse. One wasn't better than the other, but they were slightly different.

When the Professor entered, he stared down his long pointed nose at her. She had the feeling he didn't like what she had been doing.

"A wide selection, Professor. I can tell we'll be brewing a variety of potions in this class."

"Not in today's class," he said, his ess hissing slightly.

"Oh," she said, disappointed.

He swept out of the room again, his robe swirling behind him. She settled into her seat and pulled out a book and quill. If they weren't brewing, they'd be note-taking. She pulled out her potion text. It was littered with notes in the margins, and Laurel started copying one of her variations onto a page in her book.

"What is all that?" Cho asked, taking the seat next to her. "Have you already brewed these?"

Laurel nodded. "I'm no good at charms or transfiguration, so I practised a lot of potions." She finished the recipe's directions and ran her finger down the page next to the spine. The page pulled free of the book. Turning to the section she had filed her other potions, Laurel opened to other antidotes and set the page there, running her finger up the page, to seal it back in.

"That's a fabulous book!" Cho gushed.

"Thank you. It was a gift. I tend to just write things down as they come to me, so I have a lot of sorting to do afterwards." The first thirty pages or so were filled with potions, herbology notes, wand metrics, any number of things that interested her.

As the first years from Hufflepuff joined them, Laurel felt outnumbered. They were only seven, but there must have been twenty first years in Hufflepuff. Greg sat on her left. That helped.

"Did you know the stairways move?" he asked in wonder. "I was stuck on the third floor for twenty minutes."

"No, I didn't. I haven't been above the second floor," she admitted. "We have Astronomy after lunch, though, so we'll be going all the way to the roof then."

"Oh, I have Transfiguration after lunch," he said glumly. "Well, at least we have Potions together. Hi, Cho," he said, looking around Laurel.

"Hi, Greg."

They didn't have time for more as Professor Snape strode in, closing his door loudly. The class immediately perked up. His opening speech seemed a little rehearsed to Laurel, but inspiring all the same. She got dreamy-eyed thinking about putting a stop to death, or making someone fall desperately in love with her, or spill their guts, revealing every secret they had. It sounded marvelous. It gave her a sense of power that every failed charm stole from her.

Following the inspiring introduction, Snape began quizzing the students. All the questions pertained to the ingredients and processes required to brew an engorgement potion. Laurel deduced that this would be their first potion. When the questions started to slow, Laurel raised her hand.

"You have a question, Miss?"

"Olivander," she filled in. "Will there be enough time in the second period to brew an engorgement potion?"

A quiet hush ran through the students. The name of the potion hadn't been used yet. Snape's eyes narrowed. "How much time does it take?" he asked.

"An hour, if one doesn't dawdle."

"Then you'd best not dawdle, Miss Olivander. Class, you have been issued a challenge. Rather than lecture about the potion, you shall learn by trial. Cauldrons out."

The Professor pointed his wand at the cabinet while Cho clutched Laurel's arm.

"I've never even brewed tea! How am I going to make a potion?" she panicked.

"Relax," Laurel said calmly. "Follow my lead. It's not very complicated. Sometimes I find tea more challenging," she muttered, pulling a striker from her bag to start a fire.

Professor Snape brought his hand down hard on the metal device. "What is this?" he asked. "A very strange wand, wandmaker."

Laurel squirmed slightly. "I'm unable to start a fire. I have better luck with water, professor. This is a muggle creation."

He took the metal coil from her and squeezed it, watching the sparks erupt from under the cap. "Indeed." He handed it back to her. "You had best learn inflammarum by the end of term," he warned. "You will need a stabler flame than muggle fire can provide."

Laurel didn't argue but rolled her eyes as he left. "Stable. It's perfectly stable." In fact, as she tended them, the flames turned the same yellow as all the others on her bench.

"He's just stuffy," Marietta complained. "That's why he's head of Slytherin."

Laurel took a moment to imagine herself in Slytherin, possibly in Snape's good graces rather than bad. Well, she could earn her way into those graces, starting with this potion. She set to her task, leading her friends along with her.

No one had trouble keeping up with Laurel as she prepared and added ingredients. Many checked with their books and didn't see or follow her variations. They also didn't have her ingredients. She was sure her potion was the most potent.

"The class is at an end. Everyone take a draft and we'll see who has the most effective brew."

Laurel's table had the tallest of the assembly, and Laurel herself had to round her neck and shoulders as they brushed the ceiling. Professor Snape frowned up at her.

"That's more than the basic Engorgement," he muttered. "What did you do?"

Laurel licked her lips but didn't answer. A few moments later, she began to shrink again, easing her neck.

"Five points to Ravenclaw," Snape said, seeming amazed the words were leaving his lips. He turned in a sweep of robes and strode out of the dungeon.

The rest of her classes were much less confrontational. It wasn't until the end of the day, when she had charms, that her ineptness as a witch hit her square between the eyes.

"Good afternoon, class," Professor Flitwick said in a soft, friendly voice. "Please put your books away. I want to start by getting a sense of what you've already tried and mastered. Let's start with you, my dear. What is your name?"

Cho looked behind her, then at Laurel who nodded and encouraged her.

"He means you, Cho," Marietta whispered.

"Oh! I'm Cho, Professor, and I haven't tried much." She pulled out her wand. "Lumos."

"Very nice. Can you make it brighter?" he asked.

Cho frowned and concentrated, but the light didn't change.

"Add maximus," the diminutive Professor suggested.

"Lumos maximus."

Laurel shielded her eyes against the sudden glare.

"Lovely. Have you tried anything else?"

Cho set her wand down and shook her head, embarrassed.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "we'll cover all the basic charms. What about you?" He moved onto one of the Gryffindor boys that shared this class with Ravenclaw. He admitted he'd only gotten his wand a week ago. That wasn't uncommon among the half-bloods and muggle-born in the class.

"I see you slouching in your chair, miss. Don't be shy."

"I've tried most of the basic charms, Professor," she admitted, feeling her eyes burning. "But none of them worked." She lifted her wand. "Lumos." Rather than the tip lighting up, as Cho's had, there was a burst of sparks.

"Oh my. And you say you've tried others? Aguemente?" Several of the magic-born students had tried and succeeded to produce water from the wand. It was the one Laurel had the best luck with.

She nodded. "Aguemente." Instead of a nice steady stream of water, as might come from a drinking fountain, Laurel's wand jutted water in spurts. At least it was water, she thought, relieved. Sometimes when she tried that spell she got foul smelling liquids that were obviously _not_ water.

"And you were fitted for your wand?" the Professor asked, putting out a hand to take it from her.

"My uncle fitted me, yes," she admitted, more tears pricking and heat coming to her cheeks.

"Who is your uncle?" Professor Flitwick asked, making a rainbow appear in the air from the same wand that Laurel could not use. He frowned as he cast the spell.

"Garrick Olivander," she admitted in a mumble that he probably didn't understand.

"Ah, Miss Olivander." He stopped examining the wand and returned it to her. "That's fine, dear. Would you mind staying after class for a moment?"

Laurel nodded mutely, fighting the tears.

The professor moved on to the next student and Cho grabbed Laurel's hand, squeezing. "It's okay," she said. "You can do so many things. And I'm sure your uncle will find you a wand that works."

Laurel sniffled and wiped her face. "Thanks." She didn't have much hope hundreds of wands later.

This latest was the first of its kind. Her uncle had tried a new core and it had given her the best results yet, pathetic as they were. He'd used an common raven feather when the Coatl had proved entirely ineffective. This wand was oak, rigid and short, seven inches, only as long as the feather at its core. She understood his reasoning. The hard wood was expected to hold her magic more tightly. It seemed to be working, allowing only the smallest trickle out. It was much better than the disastrous results she received when using a regular wand.

Laurel tried not to pay attention to her classmates. She instead stared at her wand, using her innate magic to lift it into the air and spin it. Watching the lazy circles it made calmed her.

"How are you doing that?" Cho asked in whisper.

The wand clattered to the desk when Laurel stopped paying attention. Only then did she notice how quiet the room had gotten.

"Yes," Professor Flitwick said. "Please stay, Laurel."

Laurel nodded as the rest of the class filed out.

"Laurel Olivander," Professor Flitwick mused. "I have had correspondence with your uncle," he told her.

Laurel frowned, unsurprised. "He told you about my...impediment."

"Yes. This wand is..." He reached toward it and Laurel floated it toward him so he didn't have to reach the top of the desk. It was nearly as tall as he was. "Yes," he murmured. "This wand is amazingly difficult. It resisted my efforts to cast that spell. Aguemente." A very small stream ran from the tip of the wand for only a second or two. He drew his own wand and repeated the spell. The stream was strong, like a fire hose. Laurel wondered how he wasn't pushed back by it. "You see. And then there's your innate magic. You were using-"

"Wingardium leviosa," she said. "It's the easiest for me."

"Could you cast aguemente without a wand?" he wondered.

Laurel licked her lips. She'd still need some sort of focus. She fetched her cauldron that was still in her bag. Staring into it, she thought the spell. The cauldron overflowed with water.

"Interesting," Professor Flitwick murmured. "Well, my dear, it's obvious you have the magic to perform charms. Perhaps I will test you differently, dually."

Laurel wondered what that meant.

He pushed the wand back at her. "Show me wingardium, please."

Laurel looked at the cauldron and used her wand, swishing it through the air as the spell dictated. The cauldron was knocked over rather than floating.

"Yes, your technique is fine. This is what we will do. In class, you will use your wand. You will show me that you know how to use it as the other students do. Outside class, perhaps in a weekly session, you and I will try to divine a way for you to use the spells without a wand."

Laurel's heart surged with hope. "Really?"

"I can hardly hold you back for something born in you. So long as you follow instructions, as long as you are trying, I will make sure you get through to the end of term." He shook his head. "That wand is little more than a stick," he muttered. "Your uncle must have felt foolish making it."

Laurel felt her cheeks heat in anger at the professor and shame for her uncle.

"However, it is obviously the best he could fit to you. I'm curious," he passed her his wand. "One quick spell?"

"Stand back," she warned. "Lumos!"

There was a rushing roar and it seemed all the air the in room was charged. Laurel's hair began to stand on end. It was one of the strangest results she'd encountered.

The professor reached for the wand and his ring came near the cauldron. The resulting spark, threw him back to the other desk. At least the room seemed to returned to normal. Laurel rushed around the desk to her professor. "Professor Flitwick! Are you all right?"

He lay still, slumped against the desk he's hit. Laurel noticed a gash on his head and pulled out a salve from her pocket. The heal-all stopped the bleeding and left no mark. Next she waved the jar under his nose. It was potent enough to reach through his stupor.

"Oh! Hmm. Well, Laurel, I won't take up any more of your afternoon. Thank you for experimenting with me." He rose slowly, shaking his head once or twice.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to walk with you to the infirmary? You hit that desk very hard."

"I'll find my own way. It's not so bad." He blinked repeatedly. "If only the spots would clear."

Laurel followed just behind him. He knew she was there, but didn't acknowledge her again. She was relieved when he did go to the infirmary. Leaving the ward was Professor Sprout. Laurel followed her instead, guessing that she was headed to the greenhouses.

She wasn't so lucky. The witch in earthy brown robes headed to one of the towers. As soon as she began to climb the stairs, Laurel made her own way out of the wing. She headed outside, thinking to get a little fresh air before supper.


End file.
